


Tumblr Pornlet 22: Booth

by LupusScintilla (inkandblade)



Series: Tumblr Pornlets & Ficlets ♠ [22]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anthracite Outtake, Buck's Night, Fiance Derek Hale, Fiance Stiles Stilinski, Flash Fic, I do not consent to those under the age of majority viewing my explicit works, M/M, Masturbation, Not Beta Read, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Tipsy Stiles Stilinski, not!Stripper Derek Hale, pornlet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-12-12 08:53:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11733750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkandblade/pseuds/LupusScintilla
Summary: Stiles was lucky it was only a few steps to the seat, as he practically fell face first into the booth they pushed him into. He hadn’t had that much to drink, he didn’t think. But, he rarely drank anything these days, so two unnamed and absurdly colored cocktails was probably more than enough to make him a little unsteady on his feet.♠This was written with the Anthracite universe/story in mind. Think a few years in the future. (You don't need to have read the full story to understand this, however).





	Tumblr Pornlet 22: Booth

Stiles was lucky it was only a few steps to the seat, as he practically fell face first into the booth they pushed him into. He hadn't had that much to drink, he didn’t think. But, he rarely drank anything these days, so two unnamed and absurdly colored cocktails was probably more than enough to make him a little unsteady on his feet. The guys had all insisted that, as Stiles was the groom-to-be, he should do anything he wanted on his last night of freedom. Apparently he was supposed to want to get tipsy.

The noise from the club wasn’t as sharp in the booth. He could still hear the music and heckling and glasses clinking. He pushed himself back in the seat and, even in his slightly booze-addled state, hoped it was cleaned regularly.

Stiles was having fun, that went without saying, but his mind kept drifting to Derek and wondering what he was doing on his last night as a single man. The Pack had split in two, more or less by gender, for the night. Stiles ended up with the guys, and Derek, well, Derek had been more than happy to have Cora and Lydia take control of his half of the pre-wedding festivities.

Stiles had no doubt that they would be cheekily foisting strippers in Derek's direction the way that the guys had done to Stiles.

That's what he was waiting for now; they’d apparently all chipped in to buy a special, private show.

Stiles, despite his ill-informed wardrobe choices as a teenager, really wasn't that into strippers or, well. He didn't like looking without touching that much, and he wasn't going to touch anyone who didn't want to be touched, and besides, his drunk but still very much in love brain supplied, there was only one person he wanted to touch anyway. That! Yes. That's why he was getting married tomorrow. He loved Derek and it felt a little wrong to be sitting in a dingy, velvet and heaven knows what else lined booth, waiting for an exotic dancer to come do her thing all up in his face.

He breathed in deeply. This was a woman doing a job. He'd appreciate her skill—'cause he had no doubt that stripping was a skill, half the girls in the Pack had recently started going to pole-dancing classes and 'wow' was not an amazing enough word for what they were learning—and then he'd tip her well and he'd have a funny, hopefully, story to tell Derek tomorrow.

Music started, something with a hard beat and no lyrics, pumping out of the little tinny speaker above a curtained door Stiles had noticed. A bouncer stepped through before the dancer, and Stiles squinted in the low light. The guy looked a lot like Jackson, only in a black leather jacket and sunglasses sat absurdly low on his nose. Jackson was outside in the main stage area with the others, though, wearing an over-priced designer t-shirt and jeans.

Stiles licked his lips as the curtain rustled again. The dancer was tall and wide, if the shape against the material was anything to go by, and Stiles had a horrific realization. The guys had gone and managed to get him a male-stripper in a place that usually only had female performers. Maybe that’s why the dancer had a bouncer-chaperone? Either way, this was not good. Stiles was bi, but, well. He prefered the male form, and he’d been hoping that the combination of liquid happy in his veins, and boobs rather than pecs in his face, would leave him mostly soft and not that interested in the performance. A hard man in front of him though? A man who was almost as hot as Derek? This might not be the funny story he’d hoped he’d get to tell his new husband tomorrow afternoon.

The dancer finally pushed through the curtain, gyrating ass first, then shoulders and legs. And damn, this guy was freaking hot. His ass was just the right shape and the jeans—if you could call what were probably half-sprayed on leggings with snap fasteners up the side jeans—left absolutely nothing to the imagination.

Stiles sat a little higher, gripped his hands into the edge of the seat and tried not to give into the urge to cross his legs over his lap. His dick was embarrassingly interested in this strange dude’s ass. He felt the heat in his face match the rise in his cock and damn.

The dancer’s hips were still rolling in time with the music, but now he was letting his suit jacket slip down his shoulders every few gyrations, not even half an inch at a time. It was, well. The partial-chub that was threatening a few moments before had graduated to a good half-chub, and Stiles was torn between wanting to cover it up and the very real desire to give it some attention. The jacket slipped again and Stiles could see the top of a tattoo between the guys exquisitely shaped shoulder blades, and, “Fuck.”

Stiles let go of the seat and pressed his palm into his cock and tried to not moan out loud. The guy in the corner who looked suspiciously like Jackson was Jackson, that smirk was hard to fake. The guy in the suit jacket and the absurdly tailored pants was Derek.

Derek’s shoulders shook a little as he turned his head and looked back at Stiles, apparently unable to keep the smile from his face. He licked his lips and dragged his stubbled chin across his own shoulder. He dropped the jacket and flicked it sideways. Derek rolled his shoulders and his muscles rippled under the oil that had been spread across his skin and his hips just kept rolling and Stiles leaned forward to stand up, but stopped short at the sound of Jackson’s voice.

“Sorry Sir, the establishment requires that you stay fully seated at all times during the performance,” Jackson said over the sound of the bass. “You may touch, but only if the dancer is within arm’s reach.”

Stiles couldn’t help the pout on his face, but knew he had no hope of hiding it from the two sets of wolf-eyes in the room. “Fine, Mr Bouncer, but just for that, I’m not going to hold back.”

Jackson smirked again and said, “Lenses on these glasses are painted black on the inside,” and pushed the Raybans higher on his face.

Stiles was about to answer back when the beat in the music changed and Derek dropped one shoulder and turned around. Stiles pushed his hand back into his crotch and let himself slip a little further down in the seat. He liked his fiancé either way, but hairy definitely won-out over waxed, and it wouldn’t have surprised him if Derek had gone all out and removed every bit of fur on his body for this little performance. The oil that was layered over his skin was caught in the rough of Derek’s wide treasure-trail and Stiles, despite knowing that it would probably be foul, really wanted to taste it.

Derek’s nostrils flared, and Stiles was glad that his other-half was an Alpha, and could scent the effect he was having even in such a crowded and probably particularly-stinky location. Derek swung his hips from side to side again, wider than before, then lifted one hand to his chin. He turned his face to the side and licked up his palm and Stiles couldn’t help it. He groaned out loud.

Derek ran his tongue around the top of his middle finger—the one he could always hit Stiles’ spot with, every single freakin’ time—and then closed his eyes and sucked a moment, tongue spread flat and wide around it. Stiles pressed the heel of his palm into his dick and allowed himself a half-a-twist against his cock-head. He was leaking and Derek made this happen, and he hoped like hell the scent would get Derek going the same way the show was doing for Stiles.

Derek opened his eyes, licked his middle finger again, then moved his hand, running that middle-finger over his cheekbone and along his jaw and down the length of his neck and the line of his shoulder and then pressed his palm into his skin and began to drag it, oh so slowly across his chest. He let the fingertips of each digit slip across his nipple, twisting his hand so that each found its mark, and biting his lip harder and harder each brushed his hardened skin.

“Fuck, Der. That’s. Fuck. This is not fair. I really wanna touch you, and. Fuck.” Stiles knew he was babbling, and he knew he should be embarrassed by the fact that he was doing so in front of Jackson, but. He glanced to the corner and, woah. They were alone.

Derek stepped closer, and Stiles was mesmerized as he turned his hand so his fingers slid down through the hair on past his navel and slipped, palm and fingers and wrist and all, into the front of his pants.

Stiles flicked the button on his jeans and wrapped his hand around himself and started to stroke. “We. How long do we have, Der?” Derek didn’t answer, he just reached up with his other hand and started teasing his nipples again, a sure sign he was trying to get off quickly. “That little, huh? Okay. I can do this. Fuck.” He gripped harder and twisted his hand over the head of his cock and had to ask, “You think they’d kick us out if I got my mouth on your dick?”

Derek took half a step back, but kept jacking himself just as fast. He was fucking into his fist now, the rolling of his hips turned to thrusts. “Stiles, I’m gonna.”

“Yeah, me too. Fuck. Derek,” Stiles came over his hand, hot and not nearly as unsatisfying as a half-drunk orgasm usually was for him. “Fuck you’re fucking gorgeous. Fuck.”

Derek groaned and his hips shook and he growled. He stepped forward, licking his fingers as he came, and reached out and took Stiles’ hand so he could do the same. Stiles’ dick twitched, but there was no way he’d be ready for anything other than snuggles in the next few hours, not after this and booze and everything else.

Derek dropped a kiss on his Stiles’ knuckles. “That was. That was supposed to go differently. I had a whole routine figured out. You seemed to enjoy it anyway.”

Stiles took Derek’s hand and returned the kiss, then dragged Derek’s palm over his cheek and rubbed it against the stubble on his chin and smiled up at his husband-to-be. “Do the pants have those snap-pop button things?”

“They do.”

“Then just make sure you pack them, huh? You can tie me to the chair in our hotel room and make me watch the whole routine.”

**Author's Note:**

> The NSFWish images this was based on can be found on my [Tumblr](https://inkandblade.tumblr.com/post/163904320666/stiles-was-lucky-it-was-only-a-few-steps-to-the). Thanks to [grimmypuff ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimmypuff) for the flag-waving.


End file.
